Dear Prudence
by Lovisa Cansino
Summary: "But maybe it had been a sign from God. A sign to get the hell out of there, and fast." As Elsie Hughes contemplates the difficult situation she is in, she meets Charles Carson, who might just end up complicating things even more.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.:** Surprise, bitch! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! Well, I thought so, too. The last fic I wrote was way back in 2012. I don't even know if I can write anymore. As always, I have no idea where this came from and no idea where this is going. This one is set in Boston, although I don't know why – I've never been to Boston, or anywhere in the US, really. If there are any inaccuracies, please don't hesitate to let me know. I know Elsie as a journalist is not really very original, but they do say write about you know… and this is all I know. Not a native English speaker, so if you see any mistakes, again, don't hesitate to let me know. Would love some feedback, suggestions, _anything._ Help me. I don't know what I'm doing.

 **Disclaimer:** Nope

 **x**

She looked at her phone for the first time in three hours and sighed. Nothing. Not a call, not even a text. She knew he got off work no later than 8pm every day, and he always called her while on his way home. Sometimes she wouldn't be able to talk much, so caught up she was on whatever was happening in the newsroom at the moment. But she always looked forward to the calls, even if he had nothing to say except ramble on and on about the boring meetings he had during the day.

She hated this. She hated waiting for men. She hated feeling so dependent on one. Even it that man was Joe, and even if he was the nicest guy she'd met in years. But, she sighed again, he wasn't really, was he?

"You okay?"

"Fine" she lied, not wanting to burden her friend with her silliness.

"Sighing a lot" Beryl was so engrossed in the article she was typing that Elsie doubted her friend would hear her reply, but she answered anyway.

"He didn't call"

"What was that, love?"

Elsie didn't bother replying. Beryl was concerned, sure, but she also needed to finish her review and have the editor take a look at it before the paper went to print, which was less than two hours from now. It seems Beryl was always almost falling behind – getting things finished at the last possible minute, but always to perfection. Elsie envied her; sometimes she wished she didn't live such a carefully planned life. Look at where it had gotten her.

She had finished her work for the night, which was surprising, considering she rarely ever left before midnight. She didn't want to go home and feel sorry for herself, and she didn't want to call Joe demanding to know why he hadn't called – even she knew she would sound stupid. So she sat at her desk in the almost empty newsroom, conjuring up many scenarios that could explain why he decided to forego their nightly ritual.

She had met Joe at a bookstore – they both reached for the same book, in a scene straight from those romantic comedies she would never admit she loved. He was charming, and his accent made her feel comforted in a way. Apart from Beryl, she didn't have any friends from back home. He commented on her Scottish brogue straight away; even after six years in America it hadn't lessened a bit. They went for coffee and that was it. Now, almost ten months later, they had an established relationship and routine. But, as it always is with these things, their relationship looked much more perfect than it really was.

During their second month of dating, Joe had gone out with a girl he met at a bar. They had a one night stand, but Elsie didn't begrudge him that – they were nothing serious at that point. What she did disapprove of was that he never told her about it, that is, until the girl called him on Christmas Day, two months later, to tell him she was pregnant and planned on keeping the baby.

The girl, Marianne, was seven months along now. They were having a little girl and although Elsie tried to hide it for the sake of her relationship with Joe, it killed her. She had always wanted kids, but a rather nasty farming accident had taken care of that when she was 19. And now, the man she loved was having a baby with another woman and she could do nothing but watch.

Oh, but she was going to be like a second mother to that child, he always told her. After about two weeks of separation, they had decided to get back together and keep building their relationship. They were in love, weren't they? That's not something you take lightly, that's not something you throw away just because the man you love is having a child with someone else, right?

She had been ashamed to tell Beryl, though. For months, she had hidden from her best friend the complicated situation she was in. She didn't want to be judged (not that Beryl would), she didn't want to feel weak for not leaving a man her friend would certainly tell her she needed to leave. She told herself she was just getting accustomed to the idea of being stepmother first, before telling the world and their mother about it.

So she accepted it. All of it. She didn't say a word when Joe cancelled lunch with her because of an ultrasound appointment. She didn't say a word when he took her out to choose her birthday gift and they ended up only shopping for the baby. She definitely didn't say a word when he had to leave halfway through the dinner she cooked (she never cooked) because Marianne thought something was wrong with the baby (Braxton-Hicks contractions, it ended up being).

He rewarded her patience with beautiful tales of the perfect life they would have when the baby came. He would have joint custody, and he and Elsie would buy a nice place to live and have marvelous weekends together. All three of them. They would get married, of course. Maybe move away from the city, so he could raise his little girl in a better environment.

Elsie listened to all of this with a smile on her face, trying to silence the tiny voice in her head that said she didn't want any of this. She didn't want dates cancelled at the last minute. She didn't want to make plans for three (plus Marianne). She didn't want to move away from the city. She didn't want to be a stepmother.

But she wanted Joe, didn't she? Well, then, he came with a package. Really, it could be worse, much worse. This wasn't a bad thing, none of it was, and Joe hadn't done anything wrong. So why did she feel such anger towards him sometimes?

She suspected it was because while she did everything she could think of to accommodate him and his situation, they had never spent a night at her apartment, even though it was much closer to her work. Or maybe it was because, in ten months, he had met Beryl, her best friend, once. Or maybe it was because he couldn't bother to learn her sister's name, despite Elsie talking about Becky all the time. Or maybe, probably, it was because he was always surprised when she defended Clinton over Sanders, even though anyone who'd met Elsie for five minutes knew how much of a Hillary supporter she was. Maybe it was because he had never been able to give her a gift she'd truly liked. Maybe it was his complete lack of interest in her work. Maybe it was because he didn't know her friends, would rather stay home when she invited him to a party with her co-workers. Maybe it was because he insisted on inviting her for dinner during the week, even though he knew she worked nights.

Or maybe it was all of it.

Men were all like that, weren't they, though? They didn't immerse themselves in their partners' lives like women tended to do, right? So Elsie shouldn't be upset that she knew all of Joe's friends but he hadn't met Becky, her only living relative, not even once, she kept telling herself. Men. All the same, anywhere.

But then she would remember Ian, the big but harmless lad she had dated for a few months back in Argyll, when she was so much younger and so much stronger. She remembered how he would always inquire after her mother's health, would always remember if she told him Becky was having one of her fits and ask about it the next day. How he would call and offer to help out with the farm's books when he knew she had to study.

Then there was Kent, the lovely professor she'd dated during her first year in Boston. How he had brought her dinner to the newsroom that time when she off-handedly complained she'd been so busy she hadn't eaten anything all day. How he'd remembered she had never tried Mexican food (a comment made once, weeks before) and took her to a small but wonderful restaurant and made her feel so cared for. But then he had gone to teach at NYU, and that had been that.

There had also been Richard, a fellow scot. A very handsome but awkward doctor whose idea of wooing was telling her she had such beautiful eyebrows (she had laughed, and that had granted him a second date). He adored Beryl, and seemed fascinated with Elsie's work, always full of questions (as if Journalism was really something as fascinating as Medicine). She remembered how he went on a business trip to Chicago and came back with gifts for her and Becky, which warmed her heart. How he got a spot for Becky at a better institution, how he asked a colleague he trusted to help with her treatment. But after two years, he had gone to join Doctors without Borders in Syria, and that had also been that.

And then there was Joe. Only Elsie kept thinking more and more these days that maybe there _shouldn't_ be Joe.

She had never been very religious, but when it all started she thought that maybe it was a sign from God: Joe needed her, he needed her to be strong for him, he didn't have his life on track yet despite being almost 40, he needed her help. But lately she'd been thinking that it had, indeed, been a sign from God: a sign she should get the hell out of there, and fast.

"I did it!" She was startled out of her reverie by Beryl screaming at her computer.

"You finished the review?"

"Oh, I finished it alright. The little bugger didn't want to come out, but I made it happen, oh, I did" Beryl answered "What's Barrow's branch again?"

"I'll do it" Elsie said, already dialing it "Hey, Thomas, can you please print out Beryl's C4 page and my A3 so Gregson can take a look at them before he goes?"

"Sure thing, Elsie" the graphic designer replied "Are you gonna need a lift home later?"

"No, thanks, I'm out of here as soon as the pages come back edited. You still have a few hours to go, I guess?" Thomas lived two streets down from her, but usually worked until much later. She didn't envy his hours. Still, he always asked if she wanted him to take her home. She didn't understand why Beryl couldn't stand the lad – he was awfully sweet.

"Yep, Mary Crawley just got back from the mayor's son's wedding, I haven't started to draw her page yet"

"Good luck with that" now Mary, the gossip columnist, that was one girl Elsie could sure live without.

 **x**

Hours later, she finally managed to get herself home. She had run out of excuses to hang around, and she was dead on her feet.

As she approached her house, panic rose in her throat: at her door, two men stood – or rather, one, very big man stood, and one sat, hunched over. Not exactly a sight a woman living alone wants to encounter as she gets home past midnight. For a second, she thought about turning around and running, but a familiar voice made its way to her.

"Elsie!"

Joe. Why he was waiting at her door she had no idea, he had a key.

As she got closer, she understood why. One look in his eyes and she knew.

He was drunk. Very drunk. Scathingly drunk.

Great.

"Are you Elsie?" the very big, very large, very intimidating man that stood next to Joe asked from under his very bushy eyebrows. Elsie liked him instantly. He looked like a character from a book she used to read to Becky when they were kids.

"Yes. And you are…?" She asked, trying not to look at Joe, who was now sprawled out on the floor singing _Hit the road, Jack._

"I trust you know this gentleman?" The stranger ignored her and looked at Joe, who, at that moment, looked like anything but a gentleman.

"Yes. What happened?"

"He was at a bar in Hampshire Street. Had a bit too much to drink, started making too much noise and bothering too many people" she only now noticed he had the most refined English accent "Thought it best to bring him home before he got himself into any trouble"

"You are very kind" she said, making no move to help Joe off the floor.

"Only he seems to have lost his key. Which made me wonder if he really lives here, as he has led me to believe"

"He doesn't. But it's okay, I can take care of him. Thank you for your trouble, Mr….?"

The stranger opened his mouth to reply, but Joe chose that moment to latch himself onto Elsie's legs and yell "My favourite Scottish lass, you are, Elsie"

"Alright, alright, now off the floor, Joe" she tried, halfheartedly.

"Do you need help getting him inside?" the tall man asked.

"No, thank you. He'll get inside if he knows what's good for him" She snapped, uncharacteristically.

She stepped over Joe to open her door, and resisted the urge to kick him inside. She chastised herself for that thought – she was being unjust. He had left work and gone to a bar to get drunk – so what? How many times she'd done just that, after a stressful day? He had nothing wrong. He never did.

Thankfully, Joe seemed to sense her mood and got inside pretty quickly, although still singing _hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more._

"Well, that's that. Thank you again for your trouble" she stepped inside and turned back to stranger, the light from the house illuminating his face so she could see it properly for the first time "Oh, my God. What happened?"

He touched his forehead, wiping the blood with a soaked-through handkerchief. "Nothing to concern yourself with. Is there anything else I could do before I go?"

"No, you've already done more than enough. Are you sure you don't want to come in? I could take a look at that for you" she tried again, knowing exactly what had happened.

"No need. I best be going now. Thank you, Miss….?"

"Hughes. Elsie Hughes"

"Goodbye, Miss Hughes" he tipped an imaginary hat and turned around, soon losing himself into the darkness. She stayed at the door until she could see him no more, and then for a bit longer, thinking about this strange man whose name she didn't know, this man who had clearly gone through a lot of trouble to bring Joe to her, even after Joe had most likely gotten into a fight with him (thus explaining the bleeding on his forehead – she was guessing the damage was done with a bottle), this man who had been so calm and kind through it all, this man who had thanked _her_ as he left, and she didn't understood why.

" _Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more, no more, no more_... Come on, Elsie" she heard from inside.

She sighed. Now she had _that_ to take care of. Not really how she had planned on spending the night.

" _Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back_!"

Hit the road, indeed.

 **x**

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! You've made me more confident in this story than I was in the beginning. I know you all want to see Joe gone, but patience is a virtue... I hope you're not disappointed. (Italics are flashbacks). By the way, this takes place around May 2015.**

 **Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

 **x**

" _Oh, God, Elsie, oh my God"_

 _"Joe? What happened?"_

 _He comes into the kitchen crying, sobbing, really, looking more like a little boy than the man of 38 he was. He hugs her, squeezes her so hard she's sure she stops breathing for a moment. He cries so hard he can't form words. She fears the worst. Somebody died. Oh God, not his mother. She has been ill recently. Oh, no, but not his mother, please. He loves her so much._

" _Joe, you're scaring me" she pleads_

" _You love me, Elsie? You love me, don't you?"_

" _Of course I love you, you daft man" she's getting desperate now "Tell me, Joe, what's going on?"_

" _Please tell me you won't leave me. Promise me"_

" _I won't leave you. Dear God, Joe, what happened?" How much trouble could he have possibly gotten himself in, from the time it took him to walk from his bedroom to the kitchen at 7:35 on Christmas morning?_

" _I'm having a baby, Elsie"_

 _At 7:36, in her boyfriend's kitchen, on Christmas Day, her life started to fall apart._

 **X**

It hadn't taken much to drag Joe to her bed. The very first time he was spending the night, she thought bitterly. _Aren't you a lucky girl, Elsie?_

No, she thought, she would feel better in the morning. It had been a long day, followed by a long night, followed by finding a stranger on her doorstep taking care of her drunken boyfriend. So she was entitled a few nasty thoughts, wasn't she?

She hated how she was always doubting herself now, always trying to reason with herself, justifying her thoughts and Joe's actions. This was not like her. She's always been strong and confident, assertive and sure of herself. Hard-headed. Stubborn. Well, maybe it was a good thing she wasn't like that anymore. Maybe she was just softer around the edges.

Or maybe she had given up so much of herself over the last few months that there wasn't anything left for her to _be_.

 **X**

" _I love you"_

 _"That's the first time you say that"_

 _"I know" she smiles in his mouth "Any objections?"_

 _"You're drunk" he smiles too. She thinks how happy they must look to others. How happy they are._

 _"No, I'm not"_

" _Yes, you are. But it's okay, Elsie, I'm drunk too"_

 _Her laughter is so loud it rings through Beryl's flat. Just as her friend is calling all the guests to dinner, Joe kisses her deeply, and she sighs in his mouth, ignoring the wolf-whistles she's sure are coming from Beryl's husband, Bill. She doesn't care. She doesn't think she has ever been this happy. She certainly hasn't had a better Christmas Eve in all the years she's been in Boston._

 **X**

"You slept on the couch" he said as he entered the kitchen.

"You snore when you drink" she handed him a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry about last night"

"Don't be. It's okay" she didn't look at him.

"Look, Elsie, last night was…"

Putting a hand up to cut him off, she said "Last night was nothing. It happens. We all get drunk from time to time. But I think you got violent last night, Joe"

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, wide-eyed. Joe was never violent. He always managed to hold himself back during their more intense fights. Not that they had had any intense fights lately, or an intense anything, for that matter.

"No, of course not. But the man who brought you here last night? He was bleeding"

"Who brought me here last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember my first two drinks, that's about it"

She sighed "Well, then. I have no idea who he is either. More's the pity. He was very kind"

"Did I say anything?"

"You did nothing, Joe. You never do anything"

He smiled, and kissed her cheek.

 **X**

"So he thanks me and leaves. Never got his name" she told her friend the whole story, later that day.

"Pity" Beryl said, not really paying attention anymore, since a juicier piece of gossip had just entered the newsroom – where old Violet Crawley went, trouble usually followed. And trouble was now heading straight to their editor-in-chief's office.

"Yes" Elsie sighed, sipping her third coffee of the day. Yes, it was a pity, really. She would never know who he was.

"Why doesn't she just retire?" Beryl muttered under her breath.

"Who, Violet?" Beryl nodded "Ah, don't be like that, Beryl. Sometimes witnessing her do battle with the coffee machine is the only entertainment I get around here"

"Well, if you're lacking entertainment, I got about three hundred film tickets right here. Take a couple for yourself, go watch something. But come back and write me a review"

"If you've got so much to do, you should hire an intern"

"You don't think I've bloody tried? Gregson doesn't seem to think I need one! Just because his days have about 37 hours each, doesn't mean we are all of us that lucky!"

 **X**

 _What kind of woman is she, if she thinks about leaving the man she less than 24 hours earlier admitted she loved?_

 _But 24 hours earlier things were much, much different._

" _You want to leave, of course. I know I said all those things before, in the kitchen, but I was distraught. I won't hold you to any of it" he says._

" _I don't know what I want to do"_

" _This was before us, Elsie, do you understand that? We were together, sure, but it was before we became… us" he says, and she thinks back to last night, at Beryl's flat, when she thought she had never been happier._

 _And now, this. This feeling of having the wind knocked out of her._

" _It's a lot to think about"_

" _I know. Take your time, Elsie, I won't press you"_

" _No. I mean, there's a lot you have to think about. Practical things. Like money"_

 _Joe doesn't have any. He had sold his family's farm back in Scotland to clear his debts, and then moved to Boston and got a job at an accounting firm, but apparently it still wasn't enough. She realizes she has no idea where his money goes. He can barely support himself, she thinks, how is he supposed to support a baby?_

" _Yes, there's that. I won't have to think about that for a while, though"_

" _God, so much will change. This will be so difficult, Joe"_

" _I know. But I can do anything with you by my side, Elsie."_

 **X**

"Did he ever tell you why he went out to get drunk in the first place?" Beryl asked, hours later.

"Not really. Said it had been a hard day, I didn't insist"

"That's odd"

"What is?" she looked up from her computer.

"You. Not insisting" Beryl laughed. Elsie laughed along, shook her head. Didn't really have the strength to do much else.

Beryl had noticed how the fire had seemed to go out in her friend. She knew exactly who was responsible for it. It was a good thing she never got to see Joe, she didn't know what she would do.

"Elsie, could you come here for a moment?"

"Uh-oh" Beryl said under her breath. It wasn't often anyone got summoned to Gregson's office – he usually preferred to walk about the newsroom.

"I'm sure it's nothing" Elsie said, as she walked over.

The office was a small one, with a desk, two chairs and a couch. Michael Gregson directed Elsie to the couch, and sat beside her.

"So, Clinton's first rally's in a few days. We're all set, I presume?"

"Yes. I got Anna up in New York already, I want us to get the full coverage of the preparations. She's got Tom with her, they'll be fine" she said, but he knew all of that. That wasn't why he called her to his office.

"You know Spratt's leaving" Ah. There it was.

"Yes", she said, though couldn't understand why he wanted to talk to her about that. Surely he didn't mean to offer her the job – he knew better than anyone she would never leave Politics.

"I'll need to find his replacement soon"

"Are we promoting from within?" She asked, thinking about William, Jimmy and Alfred: all smart and well-meaning boys (well, William and Alfred, at least), but still boys; much too young to become Business editors.

Gregson seemed to think the same, for he said "Actually, I was thinking about somebody from the Globe"

"We're stealing editors now, are we?" she laughed.

"We can afford it" He smiled. Well, that was news to her.

"Who are you thinking of? Levinson? Bates?"

"No, no. Charles Carson, actually. You know him?" he asked.

"I know _of_ him, of course. Who doesn't, really. But we never met, not that I know of"

"That's a pity. I had hoped you knew him. He also went to Cambridge, around the same time you did. But he dropped it to attend the London School of Economics"

"I had no idea he was British. It seems I can't help you there, sorry"

"It's alright. It was a shot in the dark anyway. I have him over for lunch tomorrow, better to start the wooing as soon as possible"

"Good luck", she smiled, not envying him a bit.

 **X**

" _I'm glad all is well" she says, and she is, she really is. No matter how conflicted her feelings about the situation are, she never did or never will wish any harm on the baby._

" _You were right, you know. Everyone kept saying it was a boy, you were the only one that said it might be a girl" she can hear his smile over the phone._

" _I'm glad you're happy" she tries to smile too._

" _I'm happy because I have you, Elsie. You are amazing. Thank you for being by my side"_

" _Anytime" she laughs, but doesn't mean it._

" _You are my strength, Elsie"_

 _Yes. But who is hers?_

 **X**

Once, months ago, right after that ultrasound, she had made an appointment with a shrink. Something was wrong with her, she was sure of it. It wasn't normal, it wasn't right, to feel such anger towards somebody but not having the strength to do anything about it. Because in the end, that's what it was: she didn't want to be in the situation she was in, but it felt easier to accept it than to fight back.

She didn't know what the shrink was going to tell her, she didn't know what she wanted to hear. But it certainly wasn't that she was depressed. So when kind Dr. Hobbes told her that, at the end of their very first session, she bolted out of there and never looked back. He was much too young to know what he was saying, anyway.

 **X**

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.: In my mind, Charles, Elsie, Beryl and Joe are the only British people in this story – everyone else, even the Downton characters mentioned, is American, for no specific reason other than I wouldn't be able to explain a newspaper in the US that employs only people from across the pond. I hope you like this chapter – please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing.**

 **X**

"Make sure you get some videos to upload on our Facebook page. Short ones – her getting up to the podium, the crowd cheering, that sort of thing. A particularly passionate part of the speech. Nothing over 2 minutes, I doubt people scrolling down their feed will watch it if it's long" Elsie said, trying to hold the phone to her ear while simultaneously carrying two cups of coffee on the way to the elevator.

"Tom's got that covered, but are you sure you don't want a live transmission?"

"Yes. I think it's better if we upload the whole speech after it's over, it's not worth the hassle Tom would have to go through to secure a live feed"

"If you say so. Ok, anything else?"

"While Tom's making the videos, make sure you walk the crowd, ok? Talk to the locals earlier in the day, while they set up the stage; ask them if they're Clinton supporters, what they think about her holding her first rally there… You know what to ask for. I trust the both of you"

"Yes, sir" Anna laughed.

"Good luck. Call me if shit happens"

"It's not gonna happen, Elsie. It'll be fine, you'll see"

"Yeah, well, tell me that again when she's swearing over the Bible to uphold the Constitution"

"For a Scot, you sure are passionate about American politics"

"My girl Hillary waited a long time for this. It's happening" Elsie smiled.

"Not if my boy Sanders gets there first. Gotta go, boss, talk to you later"

Elsie laughed and hung up, holding the two coffees in one hand so she could push the elevator button.

"Should the Politics editor feel so strongly about one particular candidate? I was told Journalism was supposed to be impartial"

Elsie turned around at the sound of the masculine voice. Deep and British. She knew that voice – she had been thinking about that voice for the past two days.

"Oh, hello" she smiled at the stranger "You are the man who brought Joe home"

"Yes. I trust he recovered, Miss Hughes?" He had a suit on, he looked very elegant in an old-fashioned way – it made her feel ashamed of the leggings and baggy blouse she was wearing.

"He did" She was about to ask his name when the elevator doors opened. They got in, and he pushed the button for the 13th floor – the newsroom. For a ridiculous moment, she thought maybe he had followed her there. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a meeting" he said casually, apparently not finding the situation as strange as she did "But tell me, aren't you politically biased?"

"Do you honestly expect the Politics editor not to have an opinion on the presidential campaign?" she asked, suddenly irritated – it was not the first time somebody had questioned her in that aspect "Besides, that's why I'm not in New York myself. I'll be covering the republican nominee when the time comes."

"Oh, but isn't that worse? Won't you also be biased against poor Trump?" he smiled.

"Poor Trump? Really?" She snapped, gesticulating wildly with her hands, as she tended to do when she was agitated, momentarily forgetting she was holding coffee "I cannot believe you're a republican. Would you rather I have a Cruz supporter covering the nominee?" He opened his mouth to retort, but she barreled on "I say Cruz because there's no way Trump gets the nomination. He can't win in Iowa."

"I think he has a bigger chance than Cruz" he crossed his arms and leaned back, looking amused at her outburst.

"Oh, dear Lord in heaven, if you tell me you're a Trump supporter I'll have to wonder about your sanity. Surely you can't think that man is mentally stable enough to be president? Talking about building walls along the borders, how is that even possible? And attacking the Muslim community left and right… I'm surprised people aren't going after him with torches!"

"He says what the American people want to hear. Not that I am American, but I can understand the appeal." his eyes twinkled, she was sure of it.

"The American people are clearly wrong, then, and so are you!" she said, a little louder than she had intended.

"They are angry and tired of Obama's inefficiency. Clinton would be more of the same, I'm afraid."

"There are so many things wrong in that statement I don't even know where to start" she could feel the anger rising, the bile in her throat. Just as she opened her mouth to start a tirade about Obama's biggest accomplishments in the past 7 years, the elevator's door opened.

"Well, I hope I get to hear what I'm sure is a passionate defense of Obama's administration soon. Until then, Ms. Hughes" he said, stepping out.

"Wait" she called as he turned to walk into the newsroom "What's your name?"

He smiled "Charles. Charles Carson. Apparently I'm to be the paper's new Business editor. I look forward to working with you, Ms. Hughes. Oh," he added, as an afterthought, already walking away "I'm a Clinton supporter too"

She stood there, still inside the elevator, her mouth hanging open, her mind going a mile a minute. Charles Carson. The stranger on the doorstep was none other than Charles Carson. He had accepted the job. He had gotten her riled up for nothing. He had made her head throb with his ridiculous comments, her mind whirl and her body get frustrated because her mouth was not spitting out her words fast enough – all for nothing.

Oh, but she hadn't felt this alive in months.

 **X**

" _I can't do this. God, Joe, I'm sorry, I can't do this"_

" _Don't say that, Elsie"_

" _It's over, Joe"_

" _I don't think so"_

" _It is"_

" _We've been breaking up for 6 hours. Before that, we've been breaking up for the past 5 days. So, yeah, forgive me for not really believing it's over"_

" _Yeah, but now I'm done"_

" _You always say that, and it's never true"_

" _It's true this time. I can't handle it, Joe. It's too much. I never wanted this. I didn't sign up for this. I'm not ready. I'm tired" she is tired of pretending she's excited about a baby that is not hers. Tired of him acting like nothing changed between them. The girl was almost four months along now, but a lifetime seemed to have passed since she'd announced it._

" _You had a long day, Elsie, that's all there is to it"_

" _Joe, I don't love you anymore"_

" _Liar"_

" _I'm not the liar in this relationship"_

" _Oh, for Christ's sake, we're not talking about that right now"_

" _What do you mean? We're breaking up, of course we're talking about that"_

" _Jesus, Elsie! So I lied to you, so what? It's in the past, get over it, we have bigger fish to fry"_

" _Yeah, like the fact you're having a baby with somebody else!"_

" _And there's nothing we can do about it. So let's just move on, please"_

" _But that's it. I don't want to. I don't want anything to do with any of this. I'm going, Joe"_

" _Go on, then. I don't care, really. You know you'll be back soon, anyway"_

" _I'm not coming back, Joe"_

 _She was back two days later._

 **X**

"I got an intern!" Elsie was still recovering from the elevator encounter with Charles Carson when Beryl turned the corner screaming excitedly and almost ran straight into her.

"Louder, I don't think the 20th floor heard you" Elsie smiled, handing her friend one of the coffee cups.

They walked together to their desks, as Beryl recounted to Elsie the tale of how Gregson had surprised her with a call earlier that day, telling her to get her ass to work; she had an intern to train.

"I've only been begging for one for the past two years, ever since Alfred made the move to Business, which I'll never understand, the lad is wasting away over there – but no matter, I got an intern now!"

Elsie was happy for her friend, although she didn't show. She didn't show much of anything these days. But an intern would lessen Beryl's workload considerably: until then, the Arts editorial had consisted of Ivy, who handled theater and television and always seemed to be away with the fairies; Gwen, who was responsible for the literature section and was one of the smartest girls Elsie had ever known, and Beryl, who handled everything else and seemed to do the work of three men.

"Elsie, this is Daisy, my new girl"

Daisy was a slip of a girl who couldn't be more than 20, if that. Big eyes and a little face, she seemed scared and shy, the complete opposite of her new boss. Elsie smiled gently at the girl, vowing to herself to not let Beryl go too strong on the poor child.

 **X**

"I see what he did. He doesn't think I'm onto him, oh, but I am, alright"

"What are you muttering about over there, Beryl? Some of us are trying to work"

"He thinks it's funny, doesn't he? Oh, I'll show him funny"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Who thinks what is funny?"

"Gregson!" Beryl yelled, drawing the attention of half the newsroom.

"What did he do this time?" Elsie asked. It seemed their boss did something to offend her every day. He didn't, not really, but Beryl had a habit of getting worked up over the smallest of things.

"Finally gives me an intern, but he hires a girl with half a brain!" She slammed her hand on the table forcefully. Elsie resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. Daisy had been working for less than three hours and already she seemed to have gotten on Beryl's wrong side. Elsie looked around to see if Daisy was near, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Go easy on her, Beryl. I think this is her first time working in a newsroom, it can be a bit daunting in the beginning"

"I'll go easy on her when she manages to get me the copies I asked for in less than an hour!"

"You yourself had trouble handling that copy machine when you first got here, don't you forget" Elsie reminded gently.

Beryl just turned her attention back to her computer and grumbled some more. Elsie smiled. No news from the front.

Hours later, halfway through typing her column for the paper's Sunday edition, Elsie looked up and found herself alone in the newsroom. She hadn't heard Beryl saying goodbye, but remembered her friend had told her earlier in the day she had a premiere she had to attend. Looking at the clock, she sighed: 00:25. No wonder she was alone – the paper closed earlier on Fridays, with the hustle and bustle of editors starting at about 3pm. She usually closed Politics as early as 8pm, and was on her way to Joe's place by 9. But not tonight.

Ever since the night he had gotten home drunk (she found out later it had been because Marianne had called him during the day to talk about getting a crib for the baby – they needed to pick one soon. She expected him to pay for that, he didn't have the money, they got into a fight, she threatened to never let him see the baby – the usual), she had been wondering about what she really wanted. And it wasn't this. It wasn't being with a man so engrossed in his life and his problems that he didn't notice she had fallen into depression. Because that's what it was, she finally admitted to herself. That doctor hadn't been wrong. The reason Elsie stayed with Joe was because she had no fight left in her. No nothing. She didn't care about anything anymore; she was simply going through the motions. The only thing that brought her any joy was her work – even though sometimes she didn't feel like getting out of bed for it.

So something had to be done. She didn't know if she was ready for therapy just yet, the mere idea of it still wanted to make her run to the hills. She was scared of what she would find, she realized. So she was going to start small. She had looked through some websites that recommended meditation as a way of dealing with depression – she would try that. She had read about a woman who used to get home every night and write in little pieces of paper every good moment she had during the day, big or small, and put them all in a jar, and read them when she felt low. She would try that also. She would also try joining the gym, to get her endorphins flowing. She would also try to get rid of any negative influences in her life.

And that meant Joe.

It wouldn't be easy. It wasn't like she hadn't tried countless times over the past months. But he always managed to reel her back in with, she thought at the time, very good arguments: she wouldn't be able to stay away. They belonged together. He needed her. She had to take care of him, help him. She was never going to love anybody as much as she loved him. She was never going to find anybody else who would love _her_ as much as he did. She didn't want to be alone, she wasn't getting any younger, he was her best shot at happiness. He would be lost without her, and she without him. She should feel guilty for wanting to leave him alone in this situation.

She had noticed the pattern quite early in the relationship. At first, she hadn't want to admit to herself she was in an abusive relationship, both because she was ashamed of it and because he had never raised a hand to her – so it wasn't really abusive, was it?

But she knew that there were different types of abuse, and not all of them leave physical marks. And she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of – none of it was her fault, and she wasn't weak for staying.

But now she had had enough. She didn't know how or when, exactly, but she would get rid of Joe and start building a new life for herself.

"Coffee or tea?" a male voice shook her out of her reverie.

She had thought she was alone, but apparently Charles Carson didn't have better plans on a Friday night either.

"Coffee, please"

He smiled, seeming pleased with her choice, and handed her the coffee, keeping the tea for himself. He sat down at Beryl's desk, beside her.

"Late night?"

"They usually are"

They sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, both contemplating one another, until his eyes drifted to the picture on Beryl's desk.

"Is that William, the boy who works with me now?" He asked.

"Yes. Beryl's his stepmother. Met his dad, Bill, about five years ago at a staff party" She smiled at the picture. She had been the one to take it, on a trip to New York a couple of years past: Her and Richard and Beryl, Bill and William. Bill and Richard had become friends – she wondered if they were still in touch. She missed Richard sometimes. She made a mental note to e-mail him and ask how he was doing in Syria, even though she knew she probably wouldn't.

"Oh" his bushy eyebrows rose almost comically "She's very loud, your friend"

She opened her mouth to defend Beryl, but noticed his eyes were twinkling, just like they were earlier, in the elevator. She sighed. So he liked to get her riled up, it seemed. Not really a gentlemanly thing to do.

"She's the Arts editor, I gathered?"

"Yes. She's at a premiere of one of those blockbusters, I believe"

"Ah. Not a movie fan?"

"Me? I'm a huge movie fan. Just not a fan of those money-making movies"

"But doesn't a good movie make money?"

"Yes, but you know what I mean. Those action movies, superheroes, CGI, huge productions, that sort of thing."

"I believe now is the time you tell me they don't make movies like they used to" he said seriously.

"But they don't, not really. Last movie I watched was supposed to be suspense; you know the type, leave you on the edge of your seat and everything. But I left hugely disappointed – too much digital effect, too little script. Give me Hitchcock any time"

"Really?"

"Don't tell me you don't like Hitchcock?" she said, resting her coffee cup on the desk, turning her chair towards him, squaring her shoulders, pushing her hair back – a soldier preparing to go into battle.

"I didn't say that. It's just unusual for somebody to prefer those movies to the modern, more technologically advanced ones" he said, turning her chair towards her also, mimicking her stance.

"Technology has nothing to do with good filmmaking"

"Oh, really? I know of a lot of people who would disagree with you"

"With a good script, good directing and good acting, you can make a great movie from the living room of your apartment" she defended.

"That may be so, but Hitchcock's movies weren't exactly that simple, were they?"

"And still he made it look like they were. The shower scene in Psycho is still one of the best scenes in film's history, and that was over 50 years ago!"

"But don't you agree that with today's resources, if one were to reshoot that scene, it would look even better than the original?"

"You mean a remake?" she scoffed "No, I don't think a remake could ever be better than the original"

"You sound very sure of that, Miss Hughes"

"Of course I am!" She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated "A remake could have better resources, indeed, but it would lack the original essence of the filmmaker, so what would be the point of…" she trailed off, noticing his smile "Oh, God. You're a Hitchcock fan, aren't you?"

"And a remake opponent, also" he laughed.

"Why do you do that? And why do you do that to me?"

"You want to find out what people are passionate about, Miss Hughes, you disagree with them"

"You're in for a disappointment; I'm not passionate about many things"

"Oh, I'd disagree. I'd say you are the type that has an opinion on just about anything; I'd be delighted to hear more" he smiled.

"Nevertheless, that is one nasty habit. You should break it"

"Oh, but it's one of my greatest assets as a journalist, Miss Hughes"

"How so?" she liked the way he called her 'Miss Hughes'. It seemed formal and intimate at the same time.

"It gets people talking" if she didn't know better, she would say he winked at her before standing up and making his way to the door. "Good night, Miss Hughes" he said over his shoulder.

She watched his retreating back until she could see no more. Amazed, she wondered what it was about this man that made her feel… well, alive, really. He angered her, het got her riled up, no doubt, but, she admitted to herself, she liked it. She liked it, indeed.

 **X**

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: Sorry for the delay, and sorry for splitting this chapter in two – but I have to be up in about four hours, so I had to stop writing there. Hope those of you who didn't give up on this story enjoy!**

 **X**

" _You want coffee?"_

" _No"_

" _You should eat something"_

" _I'm good"_

" _Come on. Don't be like that, Elsie"_

" _Like what?"_

" _Like that. Don't do that. You're making me feel bad"_

" _As opposed to how great you were feeling about an hour ago?"_

" _You know what I mean"_

" _No, I don't. Tell me exactly how_ I _am making_ you _feel bad"_

" _Look, I'm sorry…"_

" _I've heard it a thousand times in the last forty minutes. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't make a difference"_

" _Love, please…"_

" _Don't 'love' me! Don't you call me love! Don't you dare call me love ever again!"_

" _You're being irrational!"_

" _Irrational? You fucked me over! You broke my fucking heart, you asshole, and I am the one being irrational? Have you lost your mind?"_

" _Don't exaggerate. For fuck's sake, Elsie, don't be so dramatic!"_

" _Dramatic? Are you serious, Joe? Are you serious?"_

" _It's over! It's in the past! It happened! What the hell do you want me to do about it?"_

" _Go back. Go back in time and change everything"_

" _Show me how"_

" _Go back in time and don't do it. Go back and don't even meet me."_

" _I could never do that, you know I could never do that, you make me so happy"_

" _Go back, oh, God, I wish I had never looked at you, I wish I had never met you"_

" _You're angry, I understand, but don't say that, please don't say that"_

" _There are days I ask myself what the hell I am doing here. And most days, I don't know!"_

" _You love me, you love me, please don't say that, just yesterday you said it, you said you love me"_

" _But that's just the thing! Don't you see? I love you, and that's what makes me hate you! I love you, and look what you did to me!"_

" _I love you too, please…"_

" _Don't say it, please don't say you love me. It only makes things worse. How am I supposed to live with the fact that the one who loves me could do such a thing to me?"_

" _I don't know what to say anymore, I'm so sorry…"_

" _I'm a fool. I'm a damn fool. I should have left already. I should have never even stayed. I knew it was a bad idea from the start. I don't know why I stayed. Why did I stay?"_

" _Because you love me, even then, even at the beginning, you loved me"_

" _All those times I said I would leave. So many times. Something would happen, I'd feel like I couldn't handle it anymore, and I say I'd leave. Do you remember? And now this."_

" _How could I forget all those times I begged you to stay with me?"_

" _And I always stayed. And look where it got me. I'm so weak…"_

" _You're not, it's not like that, please stop talking like that"_

" _I don't think I'm ever gonna leave. Look at me! I'm destroyed. You destroyed me. And I can't leave you. I stay, and I wait for you to hurt me again"_

" _I won't, not this time, I won't hurt you"_

" _I don't believe you anymore. I don't believe myself anymore"_

" _Don't go, I promise I'll be better"_

" _I'll stay. Of course I'll stay. I'll always stay. And I'll always hate myself for it"_

" _It'll be different"_

 _It won't._

 **X**

She keeps thinking back to that Christmas Day. Up until now, she had been pretty good at ignoring the events of the day and everything that it meant for her. But ever since she'd had made the decision to leave Joe, she couldn't stop thinking about it, that moment when she realized she was not going to leave him, despite him cheating on her and impregnating another woman, despite the way he treated her, despite the little regard he seemed to have for her. She couldn't figure out, and maybe she would never figure out, why she'd stayed. It was wrong for her to think of that day as the day when it all started falling apart, the day when her relationship went wrong. It had been wrong from the start. She didn't even remember a time when every conversation didn't end up in a fight, she didn't even know if there ever was such a time. It had never been a good relationship, it had always been hell, and just before that fateful day she had stood in a room full with her friends and told him she loved him and it was Christmas and it was a scene straight out of Love Actually and she remembers he didn't say it back but thought nothing of it and the next day everything changed.

Why did she stay then? And why should she leave now?

"Phone" Beryl said, without taking her eyes off her computer.

Another late night. Not that Elsie minded. Joe had invited her over earlier in the day, and she had replied yes automatically. Going back on her word would only cause a fight, and she didn't want to deal with it. But she didn't want to deal with Joe, either. She didn't want to deal with anything, she just wanted it all to be over.

She picked up the phone, praying that it would be somebody telling her that Donald Trump had fallen off Trump Tower or something of the like. It would certainly make for an even later night. She probably wouldn't be home for days.

"Politics" she answered.

"You are not going to believe this"

"There's not much I don't believe these days" she could feel a smile threatening to break through and hated herself for it. She had known Charles Carson for less than a month; the mere sound of his voice should _not_ make her feel warm all over. Ever since he started working as the Business editor, they'd shared cups of coffee (for her) and tea (for him) almost every night, and from day one, conversation had seemed to flow easily. She found that, when he was not trying to get a rise out of her for nothing, he could be quite interesting, sometimes even funny (though she was sure he never meant to be). And his voice _was_ deep and it took on a bit of a husky quality when he spoke after staying silent for too long. But, still.

"There's a Hitchcock festival tomorrow. Actually, it's a suspense and horror film festival, but they're starting with Hitchcock, obviously. 8pm Saturday until 8pm Sunday. 24 hours of non-stop Hitchcock. Told you you weren't going to believe this" she could hear him smiling over the phone and this time, she couldn't help smiling too.

"You sound excited"

"Look over here" he said, and she did. Across the newsroom, he discreetly waved what looked like two movie tickets at her "So, what do you say? I pick you up or I meet you there? The first movie is a restored version of Rebecca, I don't think you'll want to miss that"

He had thrown so much information at her in the last minute she had to take a minute to gather her thoughts. Surely he didn't mean it as a date? God, she hoped not. She was still in a relationship with Joe, after all. She was going to end it, sure, but she couldn't go out with a man before that. And even after that, there was so much she had to sort through on her own before getting involved with anyone else. Charles was wonderful, of course he was, but she wasn't. Not anymore. Not yet. She had to rebuild herself and that was going to take time.

She was shaken out of her mind by him calling her name.

"Sorry, got distracted. Look, can I get back to you on that?"

"Of course. Call me tomorrow and let me know if you can. But I do hope you decide to go. It won't be nearly as entertaining by myself. Besides, the kids might think I'm a lonely and weird old man, there's an image I don't much care for"

She laughed "Charles, I don't think there will be any 'kids' at a Hitchcock fest, but don't worry. You can always make some new friends."

"Yes, we all know how good I am with people"

He laughed and hung up, but she couldn't help thinking that he _was_. He really was good with people. He knew about her relationship with Joe, but he never asked anything. He sensed she was uncomfortable talking about it, so he let it rest. He never pried; he only offered her coffee and a listening ear. They never talked about personal things; their topics were much safer, and much more interesting. He pretended not to like Beryl, but she knew he found the redhead's abrasive way a bit refreshing. He was very tough on the boys he worked with, but she knew he'd already come to care for them and only wanted them to grow and learn. He liked old movies and classic books and jazz and he was the cliché old-fashioned brit. He knew everything about wine and sounded a bit pedantic sometimes, and he always wiggled his eyebrows in a very endearing way whenever she had some juicy piece of office gossip to tell, and she adored the way he always pretended to care about it for her sake, and the tips of his ears turned red whenever he was embarrassed, which was more often than she'd think – he wasn't as confident as he had led her to believe when they'd first met. He was her closest friend after Beryl, which made her a bit sad – they'd known each other for such little time, did she really grow out of touch with everyone in her social circle after she started dating Joe? – but content, nevertheless. He was a good man.

And he had just asked her out, or what sounded like it.

Dear Lord.

 **X**

"Can you turn that TV off? I really need to talk to you"

She'd been trying to talk to Joe ever since she arrived at his place, about an hour before. But between cooking lunch and her nerve failing her, she had yet to tell him she was leaving him.

"Come on, love. I've wanted to watch it all day"

"It's Law & Order, Joe. You can watch it anytime, anywhere."

"Ok, fine" he turned it off with a sigh "what's going on with you today, anyway?"

"I need to talk"

"Yeah, you've said that already. What is it?" he got up to go to the kitchen – to grab another beer. She followed him. She didn't have a problem with his drinking, but she did have a problem with him drinking during this particular conversation.

"It isn't working, Joe" she tried to say it as softly as possible. Anything could trigger a fight with him these days. She didn't want a fight. She just wanted to end this.

"What isn't?"

"Us"

He stopped halfway through a sip of beer, and she froze.

"Don't start this shit again, Elsie"

"I'm not. Really, Joe, I'm not" she was almost afraid, and, God, did she hate him for making her feel this way "I just can't do it anymore. It isn't working anymore. You can't honestly tell me you're happy?"

"I'm as happy as I'm ever gonna be! Jesus, Elsie"

"Well, I'm not"

"Am I not making you happy?"

She knew it would come to this. She had a whole speech prepared. It's not you, it's me; that sort of thing. Lies, all of it. But she'd had figured it would have been better to claim full responsibility for the downfall of their relationship – she didn't want to spend hours running in circles with him.

"No, you're not" _Dear God, Elsie, now you're never getting out of this house._

"Why the hell not? I'm doing everything I can!" his voice rose and he took a step toward her, but she refused to back down.

"It isn't enough, Joe. It wasn't enough then, and it certainly isn't enough now" why did she feel like they'd had this same conversation before? "Look, you're going to be a father soon, you should be focusing on that"

"You know I'm not going to be able to do it without you" Ah. Because they'd _had_ this conversation before. About a dozen times before.

"Yes, you are. I am not the mother of your child, Marianne is, remember?"

"Ah, so this is what this is about. Your sob story about how you're unable to have a child and how hard it is for you to watch me have one. God, Elsie, get over it!"

She refused to cry. She'd been crying too easily these days. And she'd figured out his modus operandi: as soon as the first tear rolled down her cheek, he would sweep in with sweet nothings and manipulating her into thinking he actually gave a crap about her. But not today. There were two things Elsie Hughes was sure of in that moment. One, she would not cry. Two, this was the very last time she was having this conversation with Joe.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey!"

"Oh, hi! I didn't think you would come"

"Yeah, sorry for not letting you know. It was a long day, I wasn't sure if I was going to make it"

"No harm done. But they're letting people in now. Shall we?"

"Yes, definitely" she smiled.

 **X**

"Ah, so this is what this is about. Your sob story about how you're unable to have a child and how hard it is for you to watch me have one. God, Elsie, get over it!"

She refused to cry. She'd been crying too easily these days. And she'd figured out his modus operandi: as soon as the first tear rolled down her cheek, he would sweep in with sweet nothings and manipulating her into thinking he actually gave a crap about her. But not today. There were two things Elsie Hughes was sure of in that moment. One, she would not cry. Two, this was the very last time she was having this conversation with Joe.

"No, Joe, this isn't about that. This is about every single time we've stood here, in this same house, in this same kitchen, and had this same conversation. This is about me finally being strong enough to say that I deserve better. You're a good man, Joe. You're just not good for me" he was good, she had to believe he was good, otherwise how could she believe he was suitable to be a father? "I'm going, ok? I have to go"

She was halfway out of the kitchen when he grabbed her arm "This is not the the end, Elsie"

"Yes, it is, Joe" she was sad, so sad that he couldn't allow her this, he couldn't give her this one moment of freedom, of relief. She wanted him to believe her as much as she believed in herself. This was it. No more. Why couldn't he see that?

"I've heard it too many times before to actually believe it" his smile was as sad as she felt.

"It's okay. You don't have to believe it. It's no concern of mine what goes on in your mind"

The things she had to say to him could fill a book. Instead, she walked out of that house for what she hoped would be the last time. It took her about 39 steps before she could no longer hear him calling out her name. She left with a strange feeling; part relief, part the anticlimactic sensation that nothing had really changed.

X

She didn't want to go home quite yet; it was too quiet for her liking. She had been meaning to get a dog for a while now, but Joe hated them, so she got a pot plant instead. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want to talk to anyone, either. So she walked. Aimlessly, for hours, she walked. She walked among crowds in big avenues, she walked between the bikes and dog walkers in the park, and she walked by herself in the little streets that led nowhere. It wasn't until after about three hours of walking that she noticed her phone's battery had died out, and it wasn't until she walked into a cafe for a latte and noticed the newspaper stand that held the day's edition of the Globe that she remembered Charles and his invitation.

 **X**

"Are you alright? You look a bit..." Charles asked once they'd taken their seats.

"I look like hell", she laughed, "you don't have to be nice about it. But I'm okay, thank your for asking"

"If you say so" he smiled.

People were still filling the room, and it looked like it would be a full house. Elsie smiled, a weird sense of pride filling her – she was glad Hitchcock's legacy was still going strong. As she turned to Charles to share the thought with him, she caught him staring at her.

"What?"

"What what?"

"You're staring"

"No, I'm not"

"Okay, then" she rolled her eyes.

"Actually, I was. I have a question. Just... you don't have to answer now. Just think about it" he said, seriously. Her heart clenched – she didn't want to talk about Joe, or about work, or about anything that warranted his tone of voice.

"Okay" she sighed.

"Where do you wanna eat afterwards?"

She smiled.

 **X**

"You're a closeted republican! Just admit it"

"I beg your pardon!" he replied, mockingly offended.

"Yes, you are! Maybe not a Trump supporter, or even Cruz, but... I bet you voted for Romney in 2012"

"I believe, Miss Hughes, you've had a bit too much to drink"

It was past 2 a.m., and they were at what was possibly the only restaurant still open in town. After watching two movies in a row, they had left to grab something to eat, with the promise to come back in the early morning in time for the original _The man who knew too much_. But now, with a half-finished bottle of wine between them and the never-ending conversation, she didn't think she would mind if they never made it back to the festival after all.

"No, no, no. I'm good, I'm sober, and I want to know who you voted for in the last election"

"Not that it is any of your concern, but I've been voting for the Democratic Party since 2000"

"You voted republican until 96? So you didn't vote for Clinton"

"No" he said simply.

"See, I told you you were a republican!" she laughed, expecting him to go along with the joke, but he turned serious.

"Did I ever tell you about my sister?" he asked. He hadn't, and she knew he knew it. They never talked about family, or anything that could be considered too personal. It was a game they played – he stayed away from Joe, and she repaid him by staying away from his family "She got married when she was really young, 23, 24, I think. They had a good marriage, Reginald was a good man, but... I never thought she was fully happy. Not that she was unhappy, but still, I think there was something missing. Reginald died in 1996, and two years after that, Isobel told me she had met someone new. She was very happy, apparently, so I flew back home to spend Christmas with her and her new man. Turns out the man's name was Elizabeth", he laughed.

"Really?"

He nodded. "But the thing is, Elizabeth was a bit older than Isobel and her health wasn't... In 2000, they moved to New York for a while, so Elizabeth could get better treatment. But since they weren't married, nor could they have been, Isobel didn't have power of attorney. The decisions had to be made by Elizabeth's sons, and they never approved of the relationship. So you can imagine how difficult those last days were for Isobel", he finished, trying to keep the memory of a sobbing Isobel out of his head.

"Yes", she couldn't imagine it, not really, and sent a silent prayer that she would never have to go through something like that "So now you're a democrat"

"I'm still a conservative, but..."

"But democrats fight for LGBT rights and republicans don't"

He raised his glass to her, thankful for her understanding. "Sanders is too much of a liberal for me, so Clinton it is. Besides, Isobel adores her, and would have my head if I planned on voting for anyone else"

"She still lives in New York? Your sister, I mean"

"No, she moved back home after Elizabeth's death. I tried to get her to stay here, where I could keep an eye on her, but Isobel has always been too independent for her own good. She's supposed to come down for a visit soon, though"

"I'd love to meet her", Elsie smiled.

"I think you'll have to. I've been filling her with stories about you for weeks now"

"Really, now?" she raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

He laughed "Oh, yes. I've told her all about the Great Copy Machine War of 2015"

She laughed too, remembering the two hours she spent fighting with the bloody thing last week. As their eyes locked, she fought the flutter in her chest over knowing he talked about her to his family. She couldn't afford losing track of some important points: one, this was not a date; two, they were only friends, nothing more; three, she had just gotten out of a toxic relationship and had a lot of work to do on herself before she could even think about opening up again, and four, this was _definitely_ not a date.

 **X**


End file.
